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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257024">in our blood, in our veins</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth'>harperuth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i met you in the summer [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Transformers (IDW 2019), Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Bathing/Washing, But Only a Little Bit - Freeform, F/F, Injury, Knife Play, Mercenaries, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:47:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257024</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Idiot,” She said, and knew it came out far too tender. She turned and knelt down without thinking too hard about it, pressing her fingers lightly to Flamewar’s ankle while she worked dried blood off her skin in small circles.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Flamewar/Shadow Striker (Transformers)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>i met you in the summer [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in our blood, in our veins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for the prompts 'bathing/maintenance, getting high, and praise kink' with flamewar/shadow striker</p>
<p>the facecasts for these two are ruth negga in preacher for flamewar and thelma wood for shadow striker (courtesy of k's brilliant mind)</p>
<p>title is from 'the world we've made' by ruelle bc if you think this wasn't cooked up in part due to me watching the old guard around the time i outlined it then i don't know what to tell you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Respectfully, <em> sir</em>,” Striker grit her teeth and curled her fingers tightly into her palm, the other hand gripping the phone hard enough that it creaked. The nurse that had let her borrow the phone was watching her out of the corner of her eye and Striker couldn’t help but keep her own eye out, “That’s bullshit.”</p>
<p>“I don’t need you to respect me,” Sixshot sounded distracted even while he managed to ooze arrogance over the phone. Even without him in front of her she could see the stupid revolver sitting on his hip, like he was some sort of old west gunslinger. Asshole. Striker could almost hate him, “I need you to do as I say. And you will.”</p>
<p>“Sir—” She started. </p>
<p>“Do it, Shadow Striker,” Sixshot interrupted. She felt her molars grind together uncomfortably, too aware of the feeling and sound of bone against bone, “This isn’t a conversation, and it’s over.”</p>
<p>“Fuck,” She muttered to a dial tone. She handed the receiver back to the nurse, “Sorry. Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” The nurse was still trying to be subtle in her curiosity. It was sweet. Especially in the face of what was looking to be the rest of her night.</p>
<p>“Could you please get together the discharge paperwork for Room 14?” She tried not to let her annoyance show, “She’s going to AMA herself as soon as she’s awake.”</p>
<p>- - -</p>
<p>“S’bullshit,” Flamewar slurred. Shadow Striker reined in the urge to check her for a concussion. Again.</p>
<p>The last time Flamewar had slurred like that was when she’d taken a bat to the back of the head. She’d popped up again almost immediately, finished the job, then passed out at the extraction point. Striker remembered ignoring the shushing consonants of her words over the comm line, figuring she’d just been adrenaline high again.</p>
<p>She didn’t like making the same mistake twice.</p>
<p>“Fuckin’ Vicodin,” Flamewar complained, like she’d complained to the nurses, the doctor, the paperwork that’d she’d filled out alone. Striker had sat outside the room listening to the scratch of pen on paper and muttered curses, “I deserve <em> at least </em> morphine. Fuck.”</p>
<p>“Get stabbed somewhere vital next time then,” Striker muttered, juggling Flamewar’s weight, the room key, and the baggie from the hospital pharmacy.</p>
<p>“Fuckin’,” Flamewar tried to poke her and missed. Striker focused on getting the key in the door. She watched the light blink red twice before beeping green. Flamewar redirected her attention when the door opened, “Oh, hey, bed. Bed’s good.”</p>
<p>“Absolutely not,” Shadow Striker barely had to push to redirect her towards the bathroom door, “You’re filthy.”</p>
<p>She was. Dried blood was flaking from her skin when she moved, and there were powder burns in places that didn't make sense. Striker thought there might be C4 smeared into her shorts and she hated Flamewar so much sometimes. </p>
<p>“Humph,” Flamewar went, letting herself be pushed down to sit on the edge of the tub. Striker knew she was letting her do it, being far too knowledgeable in herding a non-compliant Flamewar someplace.</p>
<p>Highlights included: Flamewar sat backwards in front of her on a motorcycle, still shooting the agents they were <em> trying </em> to escape without <em> notice </em>over Striker’s shoulder. </p>
<p>The Polizia had noticed.</p>
<p>Striker took the reprieve for what it was, settling Flamewar down with deference to her wrenched knee and bruised thigh. She muttered a distracted, “Stay,” while she went out and set the rest of her burden on the little desk in the room. She read through the medication instructions twice. She couldn't figure out why she felt so unsettled. </p>
<p>She shook herself at the sound of a lighter clicking and catching. Striker almost rolled her eyes. She crossed the room in two quick strides, stopping in the doorway. </p>
<p>Flamewar had stretched her legs out straight in front of her, one small hand curled around the square edge of the bathtub. She’d at least managed to get herself undressed while Striker was recentering, curled forward in just her bra and underwear.  The stark whiteness of the bandages against her skin, against her dried blood, had Striker drawing in a sharp breath.</p>
<p>Flamewar lolled her head over to look at Striker, smoke curling lazily out of her mouth. Her other hand held a lighter loosely with her middle and ring fingers, a joint held between her thumb and pointer. Striker couldn’t find it in herself to be angry, “Where did you even get that.”</p>
<p>Her shirt had been a scrap of airy fabric over an exposed sports bra. Her shorts barely merited the name. Shadow Striker felt a pang of longing over uniform inspections that she never thought she’d feel after her companies’ fourth belt infraction punishment. </p>
<p>“Taped it under the sink when we first got in,” Flamewar grinned around her words, smoke escaping with each of them before she blew a thin stream of the last of it out. Striker watched her lips purse around the action, “Said I deserve better than Vicodin.”</p>
<p>Shadow Striker exhaled a sharp noise out of her nose. </p>
<p>She knew better than to laugh at Flamewar’s antics.</p>
<p>Striker shook herself into motion, crossing to the sink and running the faucet until it was warm enough. She dunked a washcloth under the running water, watching the darkness of the water spread across it. Flamewar inhaled, and Striker could hear the catch where she’d expanded her ribs too far.</p>
<p>“Idiot,” She said, and knew it came out far too tender. She turned and knelt down without thinking too hard about it, pressing her fingers lightly to Flamewar’s ankle while she worked dried blood off her skin in small circles. </p>
<p>“Didn’t know this particular establishment offered room service,” Flamewar said. Striker didn’t look up, could hear her stupid smirk in the words. She kept her eyes on the brown skin that revealed itself, lighter than the dried-brown blood staining it. </p>
<p>“There’s an exorbitant fee,” She muttered back. Flamewar laughed, her usual overloud and spastic sound. </p>
<p>Something broke free in Striker’s chest.</p>
<p>Flamewar was fine. She was laughing. Her skin was warm under Shadow Striker’s fingers. Blood flaked away and no more poured out to replace it.</p>
<p>She skirted carefully around Flamewar’s swollen knee, trying to ignore the sudden shake in her hands.</p>
<p>“You can take it out in my ass,” Flamewar said, voice still warm with her laughter. </p>
<p>Shadow Striker paused her movements. Her heart hammered but, “That so?”</p>
<p>She slid the washcloth over to scrape at flaking blood on Flamewar’s inner thigh.</p>
<p>“Unless that interferes with any happy ending options,” Flamewar hummed, either not noticing or ignoring what Striker was doing. Striker felt like part of her was floating away from the rest. There was a starburst scar on Flamewar’s inner thigh, bare millimeters from where her thumb rested. She dropped the washcloth, nudging Flamewar’s good leg aside so she was sat between them.</p>
<p>“That can be arranged,” She said, finally looking up at Flamewar’s face.</p>
<p>Flamewar was staring down at her in shock. </p>
<p><em> Good</em>, Striker thought. Turned tables and all. A shaky hand came up and Flamewar took another drag on the joint before setting it down on the lip of the tub next to her, “You for real?”</p>
<p>Striker’s gaze couldn't seem to settle, darting between Flamewar’s lips, her fingers curled around the joint, the scar on her thigh that she wanted to touch. </p>
<p>Shadow Striker was still dressed for a mission. She reached back for the knife in her boot and flicked it out. Flamewar’s eyes followed it’s path. She hissed when the flat of it pressed against her thigh, “Shit, fucking inconvenient to take me to the hospital only to kill me here. Might as well have saved yourself the tri— oh holy god.”</p>
<p>Shadow Striker pulled the edge of her underwear out enough to slide the tip of the knife under, the blade facing out to the fabric. She knew though, how hard it was to reconcile that knowledge with the feeling of cold steel against you. Against the vulnerability of your cunt.</p>
<p>She slid the knife up until the tip poked at the soft swell of Flamewar’s belly.</p>
<p>Flamewar’s breath caught, sucking in so Shadow Striker could pull out the waistband of her underwear, the whole of the front of them now pushing against the knife’s edge.</p>
<p>She jerked her hand outward. </p>
<p>Flamewar made a small sound as her underwear cut away. Shadow Striker didn’t pause before cutting the other side open, letting the fabric fall away to dangle against the outside of the bathtub, still pinned under Flamewar herself. She closed the knife.</p>
<p>“Aw, no more knife stuff?” Flamewar asked, but Striker could hear the heat in her voice, could see the way that she was wet already.</p>
<p>“No,” Striker folded herself down as best she could, tugging Flamewar a little closer to the edge, “No,”</p>
<p>The angle was awful. Striker could just reach Flamewar’s clit, and she darted her tongue out desperately, aching for a taste that wasn’t blood in the back of her throat. The tub was too low and Flamewar was sat up too straight, but she finally managed.</p>
<p>A hand buried itself in Striker’s hair and she moaned before she could stop it. Flamewar’s fingers tightened, “Fuck, Striker. Yeah.”</p>
<p>The angle was <em> terrible</em>. Striker wanted nothing more than to lay Flamewar out, get her entire face in her cunt, but she couldn’t <em> move</em>. Not under the weight of Flamewar’s grip, her gaze, her words.</p>
<p>Because, surprise, surprise, Flamewar didn’t shut up during this either.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” She breathed, while Striker contorted herself to get her mouth lower, trying to run her tongue over every part she could possibly reach, “That’s it.”</p>
<p>Flamewar tugged her back up so her mouth was at her clit, “Fuck, that’s good, yeah.”</p>
<p>Striker shivered and sucked at her. Her position pulled her pants tight between her legs, and she found herself shifting back and forth against the hard inseam pressed against her. Flamewar let her wander again, and Striker mouthed and sucked at any bit of her that she could.</p>
<p>“So fucking <em> good</em>,” Flamewar groaned.</p>
<p>Striker lost time. She didn’t know how much, just sunk into the taste in her mouth, the praise falling over her, and the hard dig of her inseam against her cunt. Everything was sensation and she was doing a <em> good job </em> and suddenly her legs were shifting with a lot more purpose. </p>
<p>She pulled back and rested her open mouth against Flamewar’s thigh, tasting blood as she shuddered, the rough catch of her inseam pressing just right as she shifted it back and forth. She dug her teeth into Flamewar’s skin and came, the orgasm slow like she’d been the one smoking earlier.</p>
<p>“Oh, you bastard,” Flamewar breathed, still talking when Striker finally resurfaced, “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and you didn’t even let me <em> touch </em> you for it, what the fuck?”</p>
<p>Striker let her head roll. Flamewar’s hand was still in her hair, but the other was working furiously at her clit. Striker frowned, “Gonna pull your stitches.”</p>
<p>“Shut up, shut up,” Flamewar groaned, fingers slowing and stilling, “Fuck.”</p>
<p>“Vicodin,” Striker managed to sit back up straight, “And then marijauna.”</p>
<p>“Marijuana,” Flamewar parroted, staring down her body glumly, “What are you, a fucking cop?”</p>
<p>Striker snorted. Flamewar’s glum stare switched to her, “<em>And </em> you’re laughing? You get off from eating me out alone, then you laugh, and I can’t fucking come?”</p>
<p>“Don’t get stabbed next time,” Striker picked the cold washcloth off the floor, wiping her mouth and standing on wobbly legs, wetting it with warm water once more.</p>
<p>“Get stabbed somewhere more vital, don’t get stabbed,” Flamewar mocked, “I’m getting mixed messages here.”</p>
<p>“Fuck, die then,” Striker said, picking up Flamewar’s hand and wiping her arms.</p>
<p>“Fuck you,” Flamewar snapped, “I’m not dying until you make me come.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Striker worked around her back, ignoring the way Flamewar’s head pressed into her hip, “Alright, deal.”</p>
<p>“What?” Flamewar pressed her head harder while Striker carefully skirted the bandage covering the stitches in her shoulder, “No, shut up, no deal. I’m not dying after you make me come either.”</p>
<p>Striker threw the washcloth down into the tub, pulling Flamewar up into standing. She watched her ruined underwear fall to the ground. Flamewar’s good arm lifted and curled around Striker’s waist, “Hate you.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Striker accepted easily, half carrying her as they shuffled back to the beds. </p>
<p>She’d gotten in her own bed, lights turned off before Flamewar caught her attention, “Striker?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” She paused, blankets thrown back, knee on the mattress. </p>
<p>“Don’t hate you,” Flamewar mumbled.</p>
<p>“Okay,” She accepted, climbing into bed.</p>
<p>- - -</p>
<p>A hissed expletive woke her, “<em>Fuck</em>.”</p>
<p>“Pills on the desk,” She managed to garble out.</p>
<p>“No,” Flamewar hissed again and Striker almost jumped at the dip in the mattress next to her.</p>
<p>She cracked an eye open, watching Flamewar climb up to kneel next to her, clutching her bad arm curled up close to her front, “No?”</p>
<p>“No,” Flamewar clearly braced herself before throwing her knee over Shadow Striker’s body, straddling her waist.</p>
<p>Striker blinked, “You have a wrenched knee.”</p>
<p>“I have an overwhelming need to come,” Flamewar grit her teeth and shuffled forward, until she was hovering over Striker’s face, “And we had a deal.”</p>
<p>“Thought it was no deal,” Striker asked, but she couldn’t resist even in the stark light of the day. In the morning when every part of her was screaming that this was a bad idea. She worked her arms out from under the blanket to grip Flamewar’s hips.</p>
<p>“New deal,” Flamewar grinned at her one last time before Striker picked her head up and got to work, “You’re gonna make me come and I’m gonna live forever.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>[banging pots and pans together] i love injury and sick fic but i have a bone to pick with fucking right in the aftermath like everything is fine!!</p>
<p>from my summer heat bingo prompts on twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/robopunkcfb">@robopunkcfb</a> (now closed!)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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